5 Drabbles
by Steph's Puppet
Summary: Drabble series. Latest: Deception Part 2- Now living in London as little other than Mrs Kuryakin, Gaby discovers that all buried secrets eventually come to light.
1. Nameless

Nameless

"Fräulein Schmidt?" A thickly accented voice asks as Gaby opens the door of her flat and she flinches back at the unexpected intrusion. She had only opened the door that evening to take some bags down to the communal bins and had not even heard a knock to announce the stranger's presence. Her uninvited guest seizes her momentary surprise to push past her and walk into the flat, revealing himself to be a blonde-haired man with an intimidatingly large frame. The sudden invasion of her home causes her to feel a momentary stab of panic before her stubborn streak rears its head and banishes such thoughts to the back of her mind.

"What are you doing in my home?" She demands. "I didn't invite you in, get the hell out!" Gaby continues to hold the door open and makes a harsh gesture towards it which he ignores as his gaze sweeps over her head to examine the modest furnishings of the flat.

"Your assistance is needed on a matter of international security." He states flatly, returning his attention to her. "You will come with me."

"What?" Gaby asks, mouth gaping in surprise. "What are you talking about?" The blonde man does not immediately answer as he looks down at her. He is so much taller than her and it almost looks painful for him to crook his neck at such an angle in order to hold her gaze. His eyes are very blue, she can't help but notice through the angry fog that clouds her mind, icy blue- like a lake frozen over during the winter.

"Your father was taken away from his home in America by Nazi sympathisers." She goes silent as she allows the news about her father to sink in, he has been in America this entire time. It makes sense, but she can't help but wonder why he could not have taken her within him instead of leaving her on this side of the iron curtain. The anger from this revelation serves to add fuel to the indignation she feels about this total stranger storming into her home and issuing orders.

"I don't see what any of that has to do with me." She says haughtily, raising her head to glare at the intruder. Her animosity does not seem to faze him too much, although he does incline his head slightly to the side as she speaks, a strange curiosity appearing on his face.

"We believe they have taken him in order to develop a nuclear bomb which they can then sell to the Nazis." Gaby felt a cold shiver as he delivers this news even though his tone is manufactured disinterest. "It is of interest to us to recover your father and the bomb, should it already have been developed, and we believe you would be a valuable asset to this mission." The more he speaks the more she notices the accent that taints his perfect German, he sounds like he is from somewhere further East, likely Russia. He is probably KGB, she realises with a start. The Soviets would have the resources to get this intelligence and would have a vested interest in her father due to his past career, they must want to use her in order to get to him. She shouldn't be surprised, MI6 had the same intentions.

"My father abandoned me as a child. I don't see how I can be of any help, and to be perfectly honest I don't really care what happens to him." She tells the man defiantly, ignoring the little niggle at her heart that informs her she might regret making such a hasty decision. Her statement only seems to increase his confusion, and a frown creases his brow.

"You don't care for your father?" He sounds slightly incredulous, as though the thought of resenting an absentee parent is utterly bizarre to him.

"Would you if yours also abandoned you?" She shoots back, annoyed that a total stranger would dare to judge her.

"My life is unimportant." He says simply. "We need to leave, I have arranged a safe house for a few days before we leave to commence the mission. Pack anything you might need, we will likely not return for some time." He looks at her expectantly, but she doesn't move.

"No." Gaby says firmly. "I don't see why I should."

"A nuclear bomb in the hands of such people would kill thousands of people, potentially more if your father passes on his technique for enriching uranium and they can create further bombs." He sounds like a disappointed school teacher and it only annoys her further.

"I understand that." She nearly shouts. He is treating her as though she is too stupid to realise the potential consequences of her father's kidnap. "And I'm sure you can recover him without my help, I don't want to be a part of this." He looked at her thoughtfully for some time, not saying anything. She feels slightly uncomfortable under his close scrutiny and feels a slight tension settle on her shoulders. He really is very handsome, and had circumstances been different she might have been more welcoming of such attention, but they aren't so she continues to glare at him.

"You are angry with your father. I understand that-" She cuts him off angrily before he can continue.

"I don't think you do!" Her declaration has very little effect and he continues on speaking, not paying the slightest attention to her interjection.

"My father left when I was eleven." He says mildly, his face has closed off to her now and he continues speaking without revealing the slightest trace of how the uncomfortable subject matter might feel. She cannot bring herself to interrupt him as she wonders where he is going with this line of thought. "I have not seen him since, but I know where he is. He is in a gulag in Siberia. I am also angry with him, but if I was given the chance to see and speak to him I would. It is better to take such opportunities while they are available than to face regret when they are taken away." Her anger fades considerably at such a personal revelation and she realises with some small amount of guilt that her accusation had been unfair.

"I'm sorry." She says tentatively, and he shrugs, his face still totally unreadable.

"Like I said, my life is unimportant." He switches subjects quickly. "The KGB would be very grateful for your help, and in exchange for such assistance they may permit you to leave across the wall to join your father in the West, once this mess has been dealt with." The offer is pretty meaningless since she already has such assurances from MI6, but she does appreciate it and she stands awkwardly for a moment, biting on her lip as she considers what to do. This task is what Waverly had planned for her anyway, no doubt he would soon hear about the Russian intervention and wade his way through the political turmoil to extract her at some point. There was little harm in doing what the KGB agent suggested until then.

"I'll pack some things." She replies, resigned to her fate.

"Please be quick."

Uninvited he sits on her foster father's favourite armchair and waits for her to finish her speedy dash through the flat, shoving items into a backpack. She knows that she is unlikely ever to return, and so along with enough clothes for a few days she is careful to pack anything she would regret leaving behind. Most of them are sentimental pieces- photos of her foster family, her birth mother's jewellery and other such items. Eventually she is finished, and he stands up again to open the front door for her.

They walk out of the flat and he leads her to his car parked outside the building. A long silent drive later and they arrive at the safe house he mentioned. It is an innocent enough looking cottage, one that could easily have been owned by a small family, and he unlocks the door to let her in. Inside it is very sparsely furnished, but there are two beds and there is fresh food in the cupboards and fridge. While the Russian busies himself with some paperwork she inspects her surroundings, and immediately spies and grabs a bottle of vodka that she comes across in a cupboard.

"Do you want a drink?" She asks, thinking of him momentarily before getting started at reducing the volume of liquid still in the bottle. He looks up from his work, some of his hair falling into his eyes as he does so. He brushes it out of the way, drawing Gaby's attention to his large hands. If he wanted he could probably put both around her waist and have the fingers of both hands meet in the middle. She almost wants to ask if he'll try to assuage her curiosity but she bites back the words before she can say them, fully aware how totally inappropriate it would be for their current situation.

"No thank you." He says politely, and returns to his work. He had started on the paperwork shortly after arriving, pausing momentarily to put a pot of food on the hob of the cooker. It is a stew of some kind, it looks edible enough she thinks, but if it isn't she has a bottle of hard liquor to line her stomach. She pours herself a glass and knocks it back quickly just to pour another one. Bored, she slumps into the seat next to him and places both bottle and glass in front of her, intentionally setting the bottle right on top of his work to annoy him. She feels indispensable enough to take such liberties, and he glances up in slight irritation as he moves it out of the way.

"So what happens now?" She asks.

"We wait for my handler to arrive. He will brief us on the next steps. Your father's captors are in Italy so we will be flying there after we have established an effective cover story for your presence on the other side of the wall." He summarises and watches as she drains her second drink. "Would you like a bigger glass?" He asks insincerely, sounding half-disturbed and half-impressed that she could drink it like water.

"I think I can cope with this one." Gaby replies drily, wishing he would join her so she wouldn't have to drink alone. She finds his professionalism slightly unnerving. He doesn't get the chance to reply as a coded knock on the door interrupts them. As he goes to answer it, she hides the bottle and glass back in the cupboard and makes a concerted effort to look sober as she hears the harsh Russian words at the door, the Russian's handler does not sound happy and he does not sound like the kind of man she wants to be on the bad side of. He is shorter than the agent who has been with her all evening, but his presence is commanding and somehow more threatening than the mountainous man who follows him as he marches towards her.

"Fraulein Teller?" The handler spits out, and she nods meekly.

At her confirmation he turns back to the other Russian and continues to speak loudly and unpleasantly in the language she doesn't understand. The Russian just stands there and takes the tirade without complaint, although she does notice slightly worryingly that at some point his hand starts tapping against his thigh in a strange rhythm. Eventually the handler leaves, shooting her a dark look as he exits. He looks like he would rather be shooting her than requesting her help and she doesn't bother to hide her relief when the door closes behind him. The Russian breathes out a heavy sigh once they are alone again, and she watches in surprise as he moves over to the cupboard to retrieve the bottle and pour himself a hefty amount that he drinks as quickly as she did. With several short movements he catches up and bests her own current unit count. The alcohol seems to have a calming effect and his hands gradually still until they are mostly steady.

"You going to share that?" Gaby asks, and he jerks slightly at her voice as though he had forgotten she was there. He returns to the table, bringing the bottle and the two glasses back. The paperwork is shoved into a briefcase and put out of the way. "Thank you." She says when unbidden he tops up her drink from the few sips she had taken and pushes it back towards her. He rests his head on one of his hands, suddenly looking exhausted and she feels a surge of pity for him.

"We're staying here for tonight, and then we're heading over to the West to pick up some mission essentials." He says, sounding glum about the whole situation. "We fly to Italy after that." The conversation with his handler seems to have drained him, more so than her purposeful attempts to irritate him. She wishes there was something she could do brighten his spirits.

"What's the plan?" She asks around the rim of her glass, watching him carefully. She is surprised by how quickly she has grown to have some trust for this man whose name she still doesn't know. Perhaps it is the shared dysfunctional relationship with their fathers that means she doesn't resent him quite as much as she would expect, and honestly he has also been far more polite than he needed to be to her. She wonders whether other KGB agents might have been so willing to speak honestly to her, share their plans and give her time to gather her things at her flat. She thinks not, she can easily picture another nameless man breaking down her door and bodily dragging her to this location without saying a word.

"Your uncle Rudi, is also in Italy. It appears he is quite close to the people who were seen with your father." He says calmly, finger tapping idly on the side of his glass as he takes an occasional drink. "We will pretend to be an engaged couple and you will approach your uncle about whether he knows anything about your father's whereabouts."

"Is my uncle also involved?" She asks, slightly surprised.

"He appears to be, your father has not been sighted publicly for some time but your uncle has been. He seems to have more freedom of movement which suggests he is perhaps cooperating."

"Great." Gaby mumbles sarcastically and lets her head drop back against the chair, the ceiling above her suddenly swaying and making her feel slightly ill. She shuts her eyes and rubs at her temples, hoping that will get rid of the sudden nausea. Perhaps she should not have drunk so much so quickly, she can already feel her judgment is dangerously compromised, if she is not careful she will do something very stupid.

"Do you not get on with your uncle either?" He asks, looking at her curiously. The sound of his voice causes her eyes to open again so she can give him her attention as she tries to decide whether it would be wise to tell him anything personal about herself. He has already revealed some of his own painful past, so it would not do any harm for her to share some things about herself.

"We get on slightly better." She admits. "He's managed to send me a few letters over the years. It has been better than the total silence from my father."

"It may be nice for you to see him again." He suggests.

"Maybe." She takes a deep gulp from her glass absently, forgetting that she has already told herself to slow down. "I am lucky in a way, I did have a foster family for some time. What about you? Did you get a stepfather or something similar?" She had thought the question would have been reasonably innocent but it seems to have put him on edge and his lips thin slightly as a strange look crosses his face.

"No." His voice trembles with some barely concealed emotion, and immediately she knows that there is more to the story than he is willing to admit. It is likely much more personal to him than his father's current home since he seems in no hurry to elaborate on his monosyllabic answer.

"What about your mother?"

"She's dead." The hollowness in his voice suggests it is not a recent tragedy but still one that hurts deeply. It is another unexpected thing they share.

"Mine too." She says sympathetically. "She died a long time ago. I still have some of her jewellery, and that helps me remember her." She moves forward again to lean her elbows on the table, and through the drunken haze she finds that the movement has put her very near to her companion. He is sitting opposite her now and is looking at her closely, listening intently to her as she speaks. Up close, she can see the light scattering of stubble across his face. It has probably been several hours since he last shaved.

"I have my father's watch." He replies, and her eyes drop to his wrist to examine it. She would not have known how valuable it was to him had he not mentioned it, but it looks good quality.

"It's nice to have these things." She says with a small smile that he returns. "Who would have thought we have so much in common?" He nods in agreement and she finds her gaze drifting to the bottle between them and she notices that together they have put a heavy dent into its contents. She wraps a hand around the neck and puts it to the side so she can't accidentally knock it over. It was probably unwise to start drinking heavily with a total stranger but she is past caring, they both have their demons and seem to cope with them in similar ways. "Why is your father in a gulag?" She asks suddenly, the question takes him by surprise and it is a while before he answers her.

"Embezzlement." He replies simply, his expression is much less guarded now and she can see shame on his face. That likely answers why he was more open on that subject, if his father embezzled from someone important the information would no doubt have been made public.

"That must have been difficult to deal with." Gaby suggests, swaying slightly in her seat. His eyes watch her distractedly as she tries to control her posture and she sees that his own frame is slack and relaxed. Before he had started drinking he had held himself rigidly upright, a tension diffused throughout his large body, but now he is slouching a little and there are other tell-tale signs that he is in the same condition as her. His gaze is slightly less focussed and he seems more pensive.

"No worse than dealing with a father that worked for the Nazis I imagine." He sympathises, and he looks away with a far off look in his eyes. "It makes you wonder what our lives might have been like had they not selfishly pursued self-interest."

"We probably wouldn't be here." She says, and she too finds her mind drifting to scenarios.

"No, we wouldn't." He agrees, and finishes the contents of his glass.

Gaby pushes down an impulsive need to tell him what a shame it would have been for them not to meet. The more time she spends with him, the more she grows to like him. It is odd to have such a frank and honest conversation with someone, she hasn't able to do so in such a long time. It has been very lonely since her foster father died, and with the uncomfortable atmosphere of the city she has found it difficult to grow close to anyone else. If she leaves Berlin she has no reason to return, no real friends or relations that she would want to see again. Gaby can't help but feel that the man sitting in front of her might feel the same and she feels a sudden need for closeness and proximity with another human being, even if she barely knows anything about them. A nagging voice in the back of her head tells her what a terrible idea this all is, and she silences it with a few more deep pulls from the bottle. He raises an eyebrow at her action but doesn't say anything as he removes the bottle from her grip so he can have his own turn.

"So we're pretending to be engaged?" Gaby says with a small grin. "How are we going to sell that to my uncle?" She kicked off her shoes some time ago, and now she edges her feet closer to his under the table. She's noticed that occasionally, when she leans close enough that the front of her shirt gapes slightly open, he is very quick to avert his gaze and she wonders whether he is just as attracted to her as she is to him. In her current state she rather hopes so, and she finds herself really wanting to elicit some kind of reaction from the still fairly stoic Russian man.

"We make up some story about how we met in East Berlin-" he jerks in surprise before he can continue as he notices the weight of her foot on his. She smiles innocently at him when he looks at her suspiciously and keeps her feet still for now.

"Go on, how did we supposedly meet?"

"You are engineer, yes? My car could have broken down and you could have fixed it for me." He stops again as he notices that her foot has travelled up to his calf and she feels a flutter of pleasure as she notices that the skin near his turtleneck jumper has turned red.

"That's plausible." She says cheerfully. "I would have charged you a fortune."

Her tone has taken on a teasing quality and she notices that under all the pressure she has placed on him he is struggling to speak. She doesn't think he's ever been approached so brazenly by someone he barely knows. She wonders whether KGB agents are allowed to have relationships, and it occurs to her that he might currently be in one. She thinks it's unlikely, he doesn't seem to type to cheat on a whim and she imagines he treats every facet of his life with the same seriousness as his work. He goes redder the higher her foot climbs and she enjoys watching him squirm, it is amusing to see him unravel underneath her increasing attention. But her fun ends rather abruptly when he catches her mischievous appendage as it reaches his knee and decidedly pushes it away.

"I am going to bed." He said decidedly. "You should too." She acknowledged the sense in what he was saying with an unhappy sigh and stood up only to fall straight back down into her chair as her lack of coordination suddenly struck her with a vengeance. She looked up at his standing frame and gave a sheepish little smile.

"I might need some help." Obligingly he moved over to her side of the table, and she didn't fail to notice that his own stride was not totally steady. She took the proffered hand and used it to help herself stand, only to stumble again and fall into his arms this time. The whole situation seemed absurdly hilarious to her, so she found herself shaking with muffled laughter as he muttered things in Russian and helped untangle her legs from the chair.

She did find herself slowly adjusting to her new off kilter balance, but before she could make an attempt to walk over to one of the beds herself, the Russian seemed to lose patience and settled for picking her straight up off the ground. This suited Gaby fine, she didn't mind being carried over and helpfully wrapped her arms around him to anchor herself in place. His neck was now very near to her face so she contently found herself nuzzling in to it, letting out a happy sigh as she did so. His cologne smelt very nice, much nicer than what was usually available on this side of the wall so she found herself wondering whether he had picked it up on the black market or while on another mission in the West.

He carried her over to one of the beds and laid her down on it, shortly after making a move to step away which she immediately put a stop to by fisting her hands into his jumper and yanking him on top off her. The cocktail of surprise and intoxication allowed her to be successful and she felt his weight drop onto her. Seizing the opportunity she shifted her face up and kissed him, arms winding around his neck to keep him in place. For a moment he does nothing as she continues to move her lips against his, and then after a small muffled groan he kisses her back, his own hands moving to either side of her head in order to take some of his weight off of her. She runs her hands down his chest as she deepens the kiss and notices the hard planes of muscle she can feel even through the fabric of his turtleneck. For a while it is total bliss, the sheer enjoyment from diverting all thought to the person in front of you and away from any pressing worries or concerns. Eventually though, some smidgen of sense seems to come back to her companion and he tears himself breathlessly off of her.

"This is wrong, you're drunk." His accent has become thicker and is somehow maddeningly more attractive.

"So are you." She retorts and pulls him back, quickly silencing any other protests.

Vaguely, Gaby is aware that this is probably a terrible decision that she will come to regret, but right now she doesn't care. Her good sense unfortunately disappeared soon after her second glass of vodka and now her attention is solely on the very handsome and drunk Russian who seems to have given up resisting and is now trailing kisses down her collarbone, quick fingers undoing the buttons on her blouse as she fumbles with the hem of his jumper trying to lift it up.

She realises that she still doesn't know his name as they briefly separate to divest themselves of the unnecessary garments only to immediately reattach to each other straight after. At this point she can't really ask, and to be honest she doesn't particularly care. Gaby wants to feel cherished and cared for, even if it is just pretend, and after dealing with his handler and giving her those titbits about his past she thinks the Russian feels the same. So for now they will use each other to chase away the loneliness and deal with the consequences tomorrow.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Well that was fun and took a rather unexpected turn, I had planned to write something like 'Illya finds Gaby the night before Napoleon arrives and takes her to a safehouse and never bothers to tell her his name' but at some point the characters decided to get drunk and make unwise decisions. Totally not my fault. Part 2 to this is the next drabble.**


	2. Awkward

Awkward

The bottles in front of Gaby, with their gaudy labels and enticing names, seemed more attractive than ever as she hung up the phone. With the absolute clusterfuck the last few days had turned out to be, she was in desperate need of a drink but at the same time utterly repulsed at the thought of even taking a sip. Part of it was the natural reluctance that remains even a few days after a major binging session, but mostly it was because she couldn't forget what had happened the last time she had indulged in alcohol. She was still acutely aware that her accomplice in that night's misdeeds was at that moment busy playing chess behind her, and doing everything in his power to not look at her as she examined the hotel room they both stood in, equally trying to avoid him as much as he was trying to avoid her.

Ever since their night together, back at that safe house in Berlin, they had been tiptoeing around each other. Unable to speak at length or even look in the other's general direction, Gaby thought that the memory of that morning would always remain firmly imprinted in her mind as the most awkward moment of her life. It had started off pretty well, she had been warm and very comfortable as awareness had descended over her. Of course, her head had been pounding awfully and she had tried to sit up with a groan but had not been able to due to a heavy weight over her waist pinning her to the bed. Blinking her eyes open, she had looked down at her body to see with some confusion an arm draped across her. She had stared at it dumbly for a moment as her hungover brain tried to connect the dots, and had not yet come to a conclusion even as the limb started to move- momentarily tightening around her before her companion also seemed to become aware of the unexpected sleeping situation.

They had made eye contact for one brief, horrifying moment as realisation suddenly dawned, and before Gaby's mind could quite comprehend it he had disappeared, a blur of pale flesh that promptly vanished behind the adjoining bathroom door. She had stared after him blankly for some time as the bed rapidly cooled, and realised with no small amount of mortification that they had been curled up around each other the whole night. Underneath the sheet she was uselessly clutching to her chest, she could only feel the rough texture of the material, confirming that she was wearing nothing else and pushing aside any lingering doubt that they had simply fallen asleep in the same bed.

She couldn't believe that she had spent the night with a total stranger, someone whose name _she still didn't know_. The thought had made her fall back on the bed with a horrified groan just as she heard the shower start to run. Glancing in the direction of the bathroom, she realised that he was probably equally disturbed at their actions and her gaze ended up falling on the other bed, still made up and clearly not slept in. The thought made her wince, and after some thought she realised she could not leave it in its current state. The Russian's handler would probably return, and if he happened to turn to look in this direction it would become immediately apparent what had occurred. She didn't want to think of what the potential consequences for that could be. She scrambled out of the bed and messed up the covers on the other one, just enough so it would look rumpled from someone lying on it.

With that task completed Gaby glanced down at her attire, or lack thereof, with an unhappy expression. Looking around the room she spotted various items of clothing, both hers and his, tossed carelessly about and busied herself with collecting her own clothes into a pile. After a moment of hesitation she did the same for his, memories appearing unbidden as she picked each item up, a blush profusely colouring her cheeks. Clothing hadn't apparently been a big concern when her companion had made his escape, and she wondered when it would dawn on him that clothes were not going to magically appear in the bathroom. With her foot she pushed the pile so that it was directly next to the door and would be the first thing he would see when he inevitably exited. Heading over to the bag she had brought from her flat she dressed quickly and nearly jumped a mile when she heard the front door suddenly open.

"Where is Agent Kuryakin?" The handler asked, after looking around to ascertain that the giant was not in the room. Gaby realised with a guilty start that she had suddenly come into the knowledge of her bed partner's last name but was still totally unaware of what his first name was.

"In the shower." She replied meekly, self-consciously tugging the collar of her shirt up to try to hide the hickey on her neck. Luckily he did not seem to notice and after a mutter of Russian he stormed out, presumably to wait for a better time to return.

The agent, Kuryakin as she now knew him by, had not been able to avoid her forever and had eventually reappeared, gratefully snatching up his clothes from the floor after a brief glance around and disappeared again to dress out of her sight. She had been fully aware of what a sight she must have been when he had briefly seen her as to her embarrassment she had flushed to the colour of a ripe tomato when he had come into view. If anything she had looked more embarrassed when he had turned to go back into the room and she spotted long, fresh-looking red lines down his back. With some mortification she realised that at some point in the night she had scratched him and left him with a parting memento of a night she was sure he would have liked to forget.

Eventually he had to come back out again and had determinedly looked at anything in the room other than her, uttering a quiet thank you when she had mumbled about having made breakfast. They ate in silence, both of their gazes totally fixed on the bowls in front of them. The handler had returned and retrieved Kuryakin, barking out orders in Russian to the quiet man. They had left her alone for a couple of hours, locking the door behind them so she couldn't make a quick escape, not that she would have anyway. What would have been the point? The Russian would just have been sent after her again and she didn't think that would go too well. He had returned alone, and after uncomfortably clearing his throat had managed to say a whole few sentences to her.

"Americans wish to help with mission. We will be working with a CIA agent, and we will go meet him tomorrow." Stunned, Gaby had not been able to do anything but nod and without anything further to say he retrieved the paperwork he had discarded the previous night and spent the next few hours fully absorbed in it as she tried to quietly entertain herself. Unfortunately with plenty of time to think, her mind had returned to the previous night often as more and more memories became available to her. With lack of any better option she had gone to bed early, averting her gaze from the rumpled sheets of the other bed she had spent the night in and had turned her back firmly to it, shutting to her eyes and begging for sleep to come quickly.

When she woke the next morning, she turned over to find the bed next to her still empty and completely untouched. Once dressed, she had padded quietly into the main room to find the Russian slumped over the dining table, head in his arms and fast asleep. He had spent the whole night there and she felt a sudden surge of pity as she realised how stiff and uncomfortable he would feel when he woke up. Clearly the thought of sleeping in the same bed that was the source of their current problems and so near to her own sleeping form had not filled him with any enthusiasm, and the dining chair had likely been a much more attractive option for a place to rest. Asleep, he looked very peaceful and so much more relaxed than she had ever seen him. She imagined that his dreams were doing wonders to make him forget his lapse in judgement. With a brief moment of regret Gaby had put a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him awake, he looked up at her blearily for a moment before remembering who she was and bolted upright like a startled colt.

"We should get ready and head out as soon as possible." He said quietly and promptly went to hide in the bathroom again before she could make any word of reply.

When they were both ready, they headed out and travelled for a few hours. She could tell immediately when they crossed the border into the West, and took pleasure in the distraction, nearly sticking her head out of the car window so she could take in all the new and exciting sights they drove past. Eventually they reached a designer dress shop where he immediately set to work in preparing a wardrobe for her to wear during the mission. He seemed to have decent taste in clothes, which she was absurdly grateful for since had he tried to dress her in rags she likely would not have complained in order to avoid a conversation. Everything he chose for her was frightfully expensive, but she assumed that was more to do with their cover story than him making any sort of gesture for her.

The American, an agent by the name of Napoleon Solo arrived, and for several blissful minutes the awkwardness faded as the two men engaged in a scathing argument. Eventually Kuryakin stormed off, leaving her alone with the American as he went to retrieve something from the car. Solo was charming, but not in a way she found particularly attractive. He flirted as though he knew no other way to speak to a woman and she found herself fending off his attentions with barely concealed boredom. Kuryakin returned during a particularly unsubtle conversation filled with enough double entendre for her to lose track of what they were talking about in the first place, and by the stony expression on his face she could tell he was not impressed. Napoleon took this as his cue to leave.

"Ah Gaby," he said dramatically, "if only I had arrived a few hours earlier, perhaps _I_ could have been your fake fiancée." The statement startled her, and after he left she turned a questioning gaze over to the Russian.

"CIA were sent to find you the night after I did." He said tersely. The information did not surprise her too much, and she couldn't help but wonder how things might have turned out if one of the men had timed their retrieval differently. She doubts she would have slept with Solo if the roles had been reversed, his seduction technique was too well practiced and obvious for her to fall for it, and with hindsight she can understand why she was more receptive to the Russian's attentions. There was something very endearing about how much he had tried to resist her, and unlike the American she was sure that he had absolutely no intention of bedding her when they had first met.

They travelled to Italy by train, and at some point in the journey Gaby made some excuses and ended up finding herself in the American's train carriage. Things were still tense between her and Kuryakin, but not in any way that might arouse suspicion, and luckily Solo seemed to assume it was because she had an innate hatred for all things communist. She used her time with him to acquire information, mostly in an attempt to reassure herself that she had not slept with a total psychopath. Not sensing her deception, the American enthusiastically answered any and all questions she had, seeming to take enjoyment out of dishing the gossip on her companion. She learned a lot in that time, including her bed partner's first name- Illya. It was a name that fit him, and she only wished she had discovered it much earlier. Innocently enquiring as to what else the American knew about her fake fiancée, she had found out more than she had perhaps wanted: psychotic rages, a disgraced formerly high ranking father, and a well-known promiscuous mother. The latter two fit well into the narrative she had crafted for him from the scraps of information he had given her, and she could accept those easily, understanding now why her question about stepfather's might have affected him so. The rages she had found more difficult to believe, he had never seemed particularly violent to her in fact he had been exceedingly gentle. The only bruises she had from their night together were small love bites and with the marks she had left on his skin she is sure he got away worse than she did.

Gaby distinctly remembered when her scepticism about the rages had been dashed, she and Illya had managed to put aside their awkwardness long enough to pretend to be a couple so they could be robbed. It had not been comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, and had felt more like a school play than actual spy work. Still their acting had been passable until one of the men took an interest in Illya's watch, at which point she caught a glimmer of the barely restrained violence he seemed to hold within him. Her grip on his wrists had seemed enough to push it back beneath the surface and stop him from tearing the thieves apart, but she couldn't help but be a little scared that this was alarmingly regular for him. She recalled how his hands shook when his handler had berated him, and wondered whether the alcohol was the only thing that stopped him from destroying the room.

They returned to their hotel room in total silence, if anything more uncomfortable with each other now that this other side of his personality has been revealed than when they had just discovered their impromptu one night stand. He hadn't said a word as he entered the room, and immediately headed to his case to pull out a chess set. The movement of pieces from one side of the board to the other seemed to have the same calming effect as the copious amounts of vodka he had drunk a few nights ago. The obvious signs of coping strategies were there, and it only confirmed her suspicions that these attacks were likely not rare. The phone call from her uncle distracted her, and she chatted away to him in German trying to ignore the man behind her as she faced the bar section of the room and looked longingly at the bottles lined up. When she hung up, the silence seemed even more deafening than before, and she turned to find that his attention was still entirely focussed on the game in front of him.

Pushing her shoulders back, Gaby prepared herself for the conversation ahead and moved to sit on the sofa beside him. He continued to not pay her any attention, but she knew that he was very aware of her presence by the slight tremble his hands took on as they repositioned a knight piece.

"I know things aren't exactly comfortable now." She began, watching him as he studiously avoided meeting her eye. "But for the sake of the mission we should put what happened behind us." Gaby didn't say whether or not she regretted it, because quite frankly she didn't and she didn't want to hear if he did. She was stuck in a nest of vipers at the moment with the Vinciguerras, and there was comfort in having someone by her side that she knew so intimately. It was better than if he were a total stranger, at least now she had hope that their night together meant he held some fondness for her and would be more willing to help her if something went very wrong.

"I'm sorry." He managed to say and met her gaze for a very brief moment. He looked unbelievably guilty and she frowned as she tries to work out why he might feel that way.

"You shouldn't be." She said with a slight shrug. "If anything I should be apologising, you were the one that was more reluctant." Gaby flushed deeply as that too conjured up more uncomfortable memories, her seduction had not been a subtle one. Her reassurances did seem to have some effect and she saw some, but not where near all of, the tension leave his shoulders.

"You are right." He admitted. "We should forget about it. Focus on the mission instead."

It was easier said than done. The next night he returned from the Vinciguerra factory, shaken to his core by something he wouldn't say. He looked deathly pale, and even after assuring himself of Napoleon's safety he did not look any better. For a man of his sheer size, he somehow managed to look quite small. Uncertain of what to do to banish this strange mood from him, Gaby approached him warily and found that when she rested a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, her touch seemed to calm him more than any words she could say.

Instinctively, Gaby knew what he needed and moved around so she faced him, hands splayed across his broad chest as she searched his face for some signal of permission. He looked back at her steadily and did not object or move back when she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and slowly raised her hands to his cheeks. Nor did he resist when she pulled his face down so she could reach up to place a slow, tender kiss on his lips.

The gesture had the desired effect and he relaxed completely, returning the kiss just as gently as his hands traced a path from her shoulders to her waist. It was not the passionate embrace of their first night together, but there was something much more meaningful about this. After a while she pulled away slightly and gave him a shy smile as she pushed on his shoulders until he moved back and sat on her bed, his hands still rested on her hips as she climbed onto his lap so she could straddle him. His clothes were soaked and she felt a slight chill settle into her as she quickly removed them and threw them into a corner. If she had to guess she would assume he had fallen or jumped into a lake, and as expected his skin was cold to the touch. She raised her fingers to unbutton her pyjamas, but one of his large hands enclosed around hers, stopping her from continuing. Surprised, Gaby looked back at him in confusion as he gently moved her hands out of the way.

"Let me." He said quietly and finished the job she had started. She half-expected him to kiss her again when they were both undressed, but he didn't and simply pulled her close so that they were pressed tightly together, faces only separated by a few inches. She traced a thumb over the scar above his eye as they contemplated each other silently. He was much warmer now, her own body heat seemed to have chased away the shiver that the icy water had set in him.

"No running away in the morning." She ordered him solemnly, fully prepared to initiate if he was still feeling unsure about how receptive she was to his attentions.

"No, not this time." He agreed and closed the distance between them. Her eyes fluttered shut as she hummed in contentment. This time they wouldn't have the excuse of it being a drunken mistake, they were both sober and fully aware of what they were doing, and were not letting the mission or anything else stop them from giving into their feelings for each other. As before, Gaby lost herself in his touch and allowed herself to forget that tomorrow she would betray him.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Had to substantially revise this from my first draft, which could be seen as a good thing as it grew by about a thousand words. First draft was an utter mess, past tense and present tense all messed up.**


	3. Drunk

Drunk

In Rome, Illya's constant refusal to share a drink with her had initially surprised her. He was _Russian_ , Gaby had thought, how could he turn down vodka? It was ridiculous stereotyping, but he was so obviously a representative of his country in nearly every other way that his deviation from the biggest known characteristic was slightly baffling. When she had gone with Waverly to give him and Napoleon the good news, she had been somewhat disgruntled to see that he was drinking whisky with the American. Was it her? Did he just not want to have a drink with her? _What did he think she would do to him?_ She had been offended for some time, until leaving the balcony she stole a glance over at his glass to see that it was still as full as it had ever been. He had mimed the motions but had never taken a sip.

After that, she resigned herself to the idea that he was teetotal. At least it meant that his refusal was not in any way personal, which she did appreciate. Again in Istanbul he did not touch a drop, and after a while she stopped asking and simply provided him with coffee or tea whenever she had to order for him or if he came up to her room to discuss the current mission. After their success in Istanbul, UNCLE became more firmly established as a spy group- they were given a headquarters in London, and all three spies were provided with flats nearby.

To Gaby's annoyance, the sexual tension that still simmered between them continued to remain unresolved. She could understand why he had done nothing in Istanbul, after all they had thought it would be just one more mission and then they would all part ways and return to their respective agencies. But once they had settled into London she had thought that he might finally make a move, and when he didn't she had even shown up at his flat in a flatteringly low cut dress to try to push him along a little. To her surprise he had not taken the bait, even when she had given him plenty of opportunity to kiss her and with some annoyance she had stomped off home. True, she could have made the first move but his reluctance had struck at some alarm bells and she now wondered whether his interest in her in Rome had been nothing more than a passing infatuation that had faded with time. The thought had struck her ego a rather deep blow, and she had made a heavy dent in a bottle of wine back at her flat, wallowing in rejection.

She had remained in such a state for a couple of weeks, and after drunkenly confessing to Napoleon about her one-sided attraction to their stoic Russian friend, he had been quick to reassure her that her feelings were returned.

"Don't be ridiculous Gaby, Peril adores you." The American had admonished. "Give him some time, he might need to adjust to London life before he jumps into a relationship. You might also have to reign back a bit on the subtlety, you could appear naked in his flat and I don't think he would realise what your intentions were." She had laughed at the thought, and realised it was probably the truth. Illya appeared to have little experience with women, and maybe Napoleon was right. If Illya wanted time she could give it to him, although there would be a limit to her patience. Until then she would try to treat him as she always had, and hope that eventually he would reward her.

A few weeks into their stay in London, Gaby's assumptions about Illya being teetotal were abruptly and totally destroyed. She and Napoleon had decided to head over to his flat one morning to cheer him up, bringing coffee and breakfast along with them. The previous night he had been forced to miss a mission debriefing in order to meet his handler, and from what she had heard from Napoleon she doubted that the meeting would have gone well. The first inkling she had that there was something very very wrong, was when the door to Illya's flat had opened while they were still several feet away and a leggy blonde had appeared, quietly shutting the door behind her.

"Hello," Gaby nearly rolled her eyes when she heard Napoleon immediately switch into charm mode, "are you the cleaner for this building? You'll have to forgive me if I find that hard to believe, you are far too pretty to spend all day scrubbing floors."

The woman looked started at the sudden intrusion, and had stared at them owlishly before slowly nodding her head at Napoleon's question. It wasn't a particularly convincing gesture, and Gaby found herself scrutinising the supposed cleaner more carefully. Her clothes were not those that would be worn by someone in that job, the dress she was wearing looked plain but expensive, its appearance slightly marred by the numerous wrinkles that covered it. Her makeup, which may have been impeccable earlier, looked slightly smudged even after clear attempts at correcting it. Had she truly been a cleaner, she might have also looked more comfortable at being at her place of work but instead she looked a little on edge as she warily scrutinised the man and woman before her.

"Uh, Napoleon. I don't think she's a cleaner." Gaby couldn't help but feel as though she was missing some larger picture, but for whatever reason she suddenly felt a sharp dislike for the undeserving woman.

"What?" The American turned towards her, looking totally and sincerely baffled. "Don't be ridiculous, Gaby. What else would she be doing here?" They both looked back at the woman who was awkwardly trying to sneak past them without arising further suspicion when a sudden call from the door they had all been fixated on interrupted the terse silence.

"Catherine, you forgot your coat." The thickly accented voice called out from the door, which had opened very slightly. The woman, Catherine as they know knew her to be, flushed deeply. The red of her face contrasting with the sunshine-yellow of her hair, she made her way back to the door to collect the garment that was held out. She snatched it without uttering a thank you, and bolted after that, speeding past Napoleon so quickly that he accidentally dropped one of the cups of coffee he was holding and looked back at the woman's retreating back in annoyance.

"Your cleaner's rude, Illya." He complained as both he and Gaby advanced towards the flat, the door opened wider at that and the Russian poked his head out. He didn't look great, there were bags under his eyes and his hair was a bit of a mess. He also looked distinctly unhappy to see them, although that expression disappeared momentarily as he seemed to consider the American's question.

"Cleaner?" He asked.

"Yeah, that woman who was in your flat." Napoleon clarified slowly, as though the Russian was being dim on purpose. His face scrunched up slightly as he looked at the American in disbelief.

"She wasn't my cleaner." He said, and he seemed to wince slightly as he caught sight of Gaby behind Napoleon. As she neared, Gaby could see that his shoulders were bare although she was uncertain as to the rest of his state of dress since the rest of him was hidden behind the door. Still, that sight was enough for her to connect the dots and come to the correct conclusion. As Catherine's reason for being at the flat became clear, she found that she wasn't even angry she was just unbelievably shocked. Beside her Napoleon still hadn't caught up and was frowning in annoyance.

"Then who was she?" Illya only sighed in response, and tiredly rubbed at his eyes.

"Can we talk about this at some other time, I'm not feeling very well."

"Are you hungover?" Napoleon suddenly asked incredulously, it was not something Gaby had considered and as he said it she took the opportunity to look over Illya, searching for tell-tale signs. His eyes were slightly red, and she noticed that the room behind him was mostly dark and he seemed to be struggling to deal with the brightness of the corridor.

"Does it matter?"

"You went drinking without me?!" Napoleon demanded, sounding far more offended than he had any right to be. Gaby watched as further realisation suddenly dawned on him. " _And_ you went picking up women without me? What the hell Illya? I thought we were friends." Gaby shot Napoleon the dirtiest look she could, and was pleased to see him suddenly shrink back as he remembered she was there. When they both turned back to Illya for the explanation they both felt they were owed, they found themselves facing nothing but a closed door.

* * *

As much as Gaby had wanted to forget what had happened, Napoleon seemed particularly unwilling to let her. It wasn't that he was purposefully trying to remind her that Illya had decided to spend the night with some perfectly proportioned blonde goddess, but he did seem to be trying to comprehend how he could have so badly underestimated his Russian colleague. In that sense, Gaby couldn't help but agree. They had both mocked him openly about his lack of social skills, and now they had proof of the contrary even if Napoleon seemed insistent that it had been some sort of fluke.

Once her initial shock had faded, Gaby found herself growing very irritated with Illya. Piecing together what she knew about him, she found that perhaps his actions were not quite as unexpected as they should have been. He had a bad meeting, and she knew that whenever Waverly decided to tell her off about something she had done wrong she usually wanted to go away and lick her wounds, often wishing she could go speak to Illya about it and receive some measure of sympathy. She could understand the desire to get drunk and seek comfort from someone, even if she hadn't expected him to cope in that kind of way. What annoyed her is that he felt he needed to do this with a stranger when she was there, ready and willing to provide him with any support that he needed. Remembering how beautiful Catherine had been, Gaby couldn't help but feel inadequate beside her and wondered whether that may have been the reason Illya had chosen not to go to her for help.

Whatever his reason were, Illya seemed absolutely adamant he was not going to speak a word of his night, despite Napoleon's many attempts to get him to spill, remarking rather drily about how much Napoleon resembled a gossiping housewife. Of course with their lives being so dangerous, it was only a matter of time before something else went wrong. On a mission in Paris, Napoleon had been shot in the shoulder. Much later on the injury would be seen with some amusement, as he had not been shot by someone on the mission but rather by the disgruntled husband of one of the women he had seduced on a spare night. But at the time, it had been a great cause for concern, and Illya and Gaby had immediately taken him to the hospital for treatment. Illya in particular had looked very guilty, he had not seen the man approach until it was too late, and heedless of both her and Napoleon's reassurances that it was not his fault she knew he would continue to blame himself. Luckily, the injury was fairly minor. It had avoided all major arteries and veins, thankfully the man had been too distraught over his wife infidelity to take proper aim. Still Napoleon had needed to spend the night in hospital, and she and Illya had returned to their hotel once they had been sufficiently reassured by the staff that the American would be fine.

After a few minutes of composing herself in her room, Gaby had made the decision to head over to Illya's to see how he was coping. But when she knocked on the door there was no answer, and she felt a huge burst of annoyance as she made a guess as to where he had disappeared to. She did make some attempt of searching the nearby bars for him, irritated that once again he had not felt comfortable enough to divulge in her his problems and that he had likely gone to find solace at the bottom of a bottle. Eventually giving up, she had retired to her bed and fallen into a nightmare. It was a stupid thing really, and one that should not have affected her so much. But she dreamed that she was in a room full of women, while Illya searched around, speaking to everyone except her even while she screamed to try to get his attention. The next morning she had woken with a start, and spent several minutes trying to calm her heart rate down and reassure herself that she was overreacting to the whole thing.

When Gaby went to Illya's room she was deeply pleased to see that while hungover, he was alone. It seemed to suggest to her that perhaps he did not seek comfort in other women every time he was upset, and she had felt no inconsiderable amount of relief as she sat in an armchair while he busied himself making them both a cup of coffee. Her hope had been brought to a sickening halt though, as she spotted the lingering trace of lipstick on the back of his neck as he had his back to her. He had likely been unable to see it when he had cleaned up before she arrived. The bed was perfectly made up, and aside from that red stain he had clearly put a lot of effort into hiding the signs of last night's debauchery.

"So who was your guest last night?" She spat out, glaring at the back of his head even as she watched him suddenly freeze as he realised he had been caught out.

"It doesn't matter." He mumbled, still not turning to face her. She scoffed derisively.

"I just don't understand why you can't just speak to me or Napoleon if you're upset. You don't need to go on all night bender and sleep with some tramp just to make yourself feel better." She snapped. He sighed as he turned to face her and she could see that he did look quite guilty.

"It is not that easy."

"Yes it is." She insisted, pushing away the coffee he handed to her in annoyance. "You could say, 'hey Gaby something's bothering me', see how difficult is that?"

"You drink a lot." He ignored what she said, the accusation spoken very weakly as he tried badly to justify himself.

"Yes I do. But I do it because it's fun, not because I'm upset." She retorted. "Damnit Illya, that can't be healthy." Gaby was surprised at how sincere she was in what she said, true she had always viewed alcohol perhaps a little less carefully that she should have but Illya's attitude towards it was particularly worrying. Most days he would not drink a drop, and then the minute something went wrong in his life he would drink until the pain went away.

"I don't know how else to cope." He said eventually, after a long and miserable pause. He looked ashamed at his own weakness and Gaby felt a sudden surge of guilt as she wondered whether she had been too harsh. He had spent so long without friends or anyone to confide in that his reaction did make some sense. In Russia he was under constant observation as the son of a traitor, and if he ever felt down or had anyone doubts who really could he trust enough to speak to about it? A drunken night with some anonymous warm woman with soft skin was likely the only source of comfort on those cold evenings. But things were different now, he had her and he had Napoleon if it came to it. There was no reason for him to go to anyone else, so all it seemed now was some residual coping strategy he clung to in dark moments as though it was the only source of light to guide him through.

"Illya…" She sighed and reached over to take one of his hands in hers as she looked at him seriously. As always his hands were cold, but she didn't let that bother her as she tried to think through something she could say to him to convince him that there were other ways to deal with his bad moods. He looked so lost and vulnerable as he met her gaze, that all she wanted to do was forgive him immediately and hug him until he cheered up. But she restrained herself, certain that if she did get closer to him she would smell some other woman's perfume on him, and even with her current efforts at being understanding she knew that such a sensation would likely ignite her anger again. Shouting at him now would not help.

"I am always here for you, no matter what." She told him seriously. "And Napoleon is too." She added hastily. "I know he's a bit of a dick, but despite the bravado he does care about you and he would support you if you needed it."

"Next time I will try." He said tentatively, meeting her gaze with a slightly hopeful look in his eyes.

"You better." She said warningly. "Or I swear to any higher power that exists that I will find you, and I don't care what you're doing at the time or _who_ you're doing for that matter," his face turned endearingly red at that and she forced herself not to smile at his embarrassment as she continued, "I will drag you away to shout at you."

"I understand." He said solemnly. She didn't think he did, she was totally serious when she warned him that she would interrupt any tryst that she would catch and would take sadistic glee in kicking the poor shocked woman out of the room. But she felt some cheer as she realised he wouldn't be able to hold it against her now that she had warned him, it would be his fault if she 'accidentally' punched, kicked or in any way injured the person he had chosen to spend the night with. There were worse ways she could proclaim her possessive claim over him. Admittedly, she couldn't think of any worse way at that moment but she was sure they existed.

"Let's go get some breakfast and take some food to Napoleon," she suggested, "I'm sure he will be wanting something other than hospital food." She drained her coffee and took the mugs over back to the kettle, picking up a napkin and wetting it slightly with some water.

"That sounds like a good idea." He agreed, and nearly jumped when he suddenly felt the wet napkin on the back of his neck. Gaby carefully wiped away the evidence and with a raised eyebrow showed him the mark that had now been transferred over, he flushed again when faced with it and snatched it from her to drop it in the bin. "It didn't mean anything." He said, sounding very insistent.

"I know." She replied softly. She would have been more concerned had it been an ongoing affair with a single woman.

"Please don't tell Cowboy."

"Of course I'm going to tell him." She said between coughs of laughter, she had almost forgotten how badly Napoleon had reacted when he first found out Illya wasn't totally incompetent with woman. "You need to suffer some more, and I'm sure he will forget all about getting shot when I tell him." Illya looked pained at the thought, but didn't resist when she pulled his arm to take him out of the room and head towards a nearby bakery.

* * *

With hindsight, Gaby probably should have realised that Illya would not be able to change his ways after one measly pep talk. And that was how she found herself one night tearing through what felt like all the bars in Barcelona, demanding in broken Spanish whether anyone had seen a large, drunk Russian. Luckily for her, Illya was not an easy man to forget and she followed a trail of guidance to eventually arrive at an expensive-looking bar in one of the higher class areas of the city. A vision of fury, she had stormed up to the bartender and repeated the question she had asked all night.

"A Russian, yes." The man looked slightly taken aback by how she had spat out her question. "He's over there." Her gaze followed the direction he was pointing the spot the object of her ire leaning in close to speak to a busty redhead. The woman in question looked utterly entranced by whatever he was saying and giggled often, purposefully shoving her cleavage in his face at every opportunity. "Try not to cause too much of a scene with your man." The bartender said drily.

"No promises." She had snapped back at him, aware that she shouldn't be taking her anger out on an innocent bystander when Illya was a much better target and only a few feet away. He did not see her even as she approached until she stood above him, positively simmering in fury. Gaby managed to finally speak some words through clenched teeth as he finally looked up to see her, an expression of drunken surprise on his face as he immediately recognised her.

"You," she addressed the woman beside him with contempt, "piss off." She had learned the expression from Waverly and found it to her liking as it conveyed all the feelings she felt in a simple two words. "And you," she turned back to Illya, "come with me. _Now_."

"Excuse me." The redhead said snootily. "We're trying to have a conversation here, and your presence is ruining it." Illya looked as though he wanted the ground to swallow up as Gaby found herself turning back to the woman.

"I'm sorry, was something I said unclear?" She shouted, not even bothering to lower the volume as she saw the other woman flinch and several customers turn in their direction in curiosity. "Take yourself and your fake breasts somewhere else before I break something of yours, and I don't mean that hideous last season purse you're carrying." The barely concealed threat seemed to strike home, and the woman spluttered incoherently as she tried to think up a response. Behind her, Gaby could faintly hear some chortles of laughter from her captive audience and she shot a sweeping glare behind her to silence them.

"What are you, his wife?" The woman managed to say after some silence. Of course that wasn't the case, but Gaby would be damned if she was not going to take this easy out the woman had so unwittingly provided her.

"As far as you are concerned I am." She turned her angry gaze back to Illya. "And as far as _you_ are concerned I am. Now _move._ "

Obediently Illya stood up and followed her out of the bar looking very much like a kicked puppy. The streets outside the bar were cobbled, and she found that with his unsteady gait he stumbled a fair few times, swearing quietly in Russian as he did so. Eventually losing patience she returned to his side, and looped an arm through his to drag him back to their hotel.

The balmy night air was very pleasant, and as they put more and more distance between themselves and the bar she found herself calming down a little. Illya had messed up on the mission and blown their cover when he had thought she was in danger, she should have realised that he would fall back into old habits. In her defence he had seemed fine, she had pestered him for at least an hour as to how he had been feeling and he had insisted that he was okay. Maybe some time alone with his thoughts had destabilised him.

Once they arrived at the hotel she nearly felt sane again, and she shoved him none too gently into the armchair of her room as she went to make him a lethally strong cup of coffee. He had the decency to look very sorry as she worked away, shooting him angry looks occasionally.

"What did I tell you last time?" She snapped, and he grimaced as he took the first sip from the still boiling hot mug she handed him.

"Not to get drunk and do something stupid." He dutifully answered.

"And what did you do?"

"Got drunk and nearly did something stupid." His readiness to admit his mistakes did mollify her a little.

"Exactly." She took the seat opposite him and looked at him exasperatedly. "I know today wasn't easy, but I gave you plenty of opportunity to speak to me about it."

"I'm sorry." Illya said glumly and looked appropriately miserable. He looked very drunk, and Gaby doubted they would be able to have a serious conversation about his behaviour until he sobered up. She sighed loudly.

"We'll talk about this properly tomorrow." She said, he nodded and made a move to stand up and head to his own room, but she crossed over to the door quickly and blocked the way. With her arms crossed she glared him down, ignoring the fact he looked more confused than trite at that moment. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until morning, you might go back to the bar if I don't keep an eye on you."

"I won't." He protested.

"You also told me you would come see me next time you were upset." She retorted. "Forgive me if I'm having some trust issues at the moment. You will sleep on the floor next to my bed, and maybe next time you'll listen to me."

Gaby made him turn around so she could change out of her day clothes into her pyjamas, not even wanting to head into the bathroom in case he tried to make an escape. Sufficiently attired, she yawned tiredly and slipped into her own bed, shooting him a dark look until he went to lie down on the floor next to it. She switched the light off, and stayed awake until she heard his breathing even out at which point she allowed herself to shut her eyes with a sigh and felt sleep take over.

The next morning, Illya clearly felt worse for wear. A combination of a hangover and a stiff body from spending all night on the floor had made him particularly grumpy in the morning, and Gaby took sadistic satisfaction in seeing his suffering. She waited until evening, when he seemed sufficiently recovered in order to have a decent conversation. Again, she dragged him back to her room and forced him to sit in a chair while she poured herself a stiff drink. She watched him eye it nauseously as she drained the glass, and defiantly poured herself another one.

"Since you won't listen to my initial instructions, I am giving you a different set." She told him authoritatively. "Next time you go drinking, you take me with you. You will not be contracting a venereal disease on my watch."

"I am always careful." He protested hotly, and she silenced anything further with another well placed glare.

"Regardless, you will not be going alone. If you do, I will actually attack your new friend." She threatened sincerely. "It will be your fault, and I'm sure Napoleon will back me up if it attracts Waverly's attention." Dejectedly he nodded, and without anything further to say to him Gaby sent him away from her room and indulged further in her bottle of vodka, thinking darkly that at least she didn't feel a sudden need to sleep with strangers when she was unhappy.

* * *

A month or so passed with relatively little incident, and as far as she was aware Illya had not done anything she might disapprove of. They had been quite lucky in that time, most of the missions had been reasonably routine with very little true excitement. Of course such a lull did not last, and Gaby found herself playing a honeypot while Illya stood nearby pretending to be a waiter. She caught his eye as she waited for the mark and was a little surprised to see him looking very tense and irritated.

Eventually the mark did arrive and Gaby self-consciously adjusted herself in her seat. Napoleon had picked out her outfit and she had to admit she wasn't too comfortable in it but he had been strangely insistent that it was the correct choice.

"He won't be able to resist you." He had told her with a wink at the time when she had sceptically examined herself in the mirror. She was sure he was right, the mark apparently had a thing for scantily clad women and her current outfit left little to the imagination. Tight, short _and_ low cut she felt like she was walking around with a 'fuck me' sign on her back. Illya had looked appalled when he saw her, and his eyes had nearly bugged out of his skull. He managed to compose himself before he could drop his tray of drinks onto a young couple, and if anything Gaby almost felt the dress had been worth it just for the amusement she derived from his reaction.

The mark looked very pleased by her choice of attire, and as Gaby flirted away she pushed down a twinge of annoyance when he made very little effort to look away from her chest. All she had to do was get him away from his bodyguards, as soon as that had been accomplished Illya and Napoleon could take over. It did not take long for the conversation to take a sharp descent into the gutter, and she tried to fake enthusiasm as the mark leaned in to whisper all the repulsive things he intended for her. He had an active imagination, she had to admit, but none of it sounded particularly enjoyable to her even had it involved someone more to her liking. Stealing a glance over at Illya she could see that his jaw had clenched and the tray in his hands was trembling slightly. The mark nearly caught her distraction and she immediately turned back to laugh at his not even remotely funny attempt at a joke. The pearl ring on her index finger felt like it was burning as she realised that Illya was listening in on the entire conversation.

Soon enough, the man invited her up to his room and she had coyly agreed, secretly pleased that this would all be over in a matter of minutes. The bodyguards were left at door and she let him slobber over her as she waited for her work partners to arrive, wishing they would speed up. The mark was too distracted to hear two loud thuds outside the door, and she nearly breathed out a sigh of relief. The door burst open, and Napoleon and Illya both marched in, the latter turning a rather odd shade of purple as he noticed that the mark's hand was at that moment buried underneath the front of her dress, leaving little doubt as to what exactly he was grasping under there.

In a blur of movement, Gaby found that the space beside her was suddenly empty and the mark was on the floor unconscious. She looked over at Illya with a raised eyebrow as Napoleon went to inspect the newly unconscious man.

"A little bit of an overreaction, don't you think?" She said drily even as he looked back at her incredulously.

"He was taking liberties." He growled out.

"What makes you think I wasn't enjoying it?" She retorted, and watched him turn several shades darker. In a small amount of time, realisation suddenly dawned on her and she felt an indignant anger fill her body. "Seriously?" She spluttered out. "You're really going to try to justify your jealously? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"As entertaining as this is," Napoleon interrupted, hefting the unconscious man upwards, "now is really not the time for you two to be getting into this conversation."

Giving Illya the dirtiest look she could muster, she moved over the American and helped him carry the man downstairs, making it look as though he was an unfortunate that had drunk too much and that they were taking home. Everyone around them seem to buy the act and they delivered him to some waiting agents, before returning to their hotel. Before Illya could make a beeline to his own room, she grabbed him by the arm and marched him to hers.

"Do you want a drink?" She demanded as soon as they were alone, he looked shocked at the question as though he thought the conversation would be going in a different direction, but he did nod slowly. "Good, let's go."

He followed her obediently as she found a reasonably quiet bar and told the bartender to just give them the bottle of vodka instead of messing around with glasses. They found an unoccupied corner, and Gaby made short work out of a considerable amount in the bottle before handing the rest to Illya. She was spoiling for a fight, which was part of the reason she had decided not to stay in their room before she could destroy it as thoroughly as they had done in Rome.

"Well, what was that today?" She demanded once they were both tipsy enough to speak frankly with each other. She had always found alcohol to be a potent truth serum, and she was determined to have out a conversation with him now that she had been wanting to have since they left the Italian city. She would get answers today, even if they weren't the ones she wanted. He shrugged uncomfortably.

"I did not like the way he spoke to you, as though you were a piece of meat. And you let him!" There was something accusatory and hurt in his voice, something that had absolutely no place to be there considering his own behaviour.

"I don't see how that has anything to do with you." She retorted. "You're not my boyfriend, Illya, you have no right to judge me."

"You seem to have a problem with me sleeping with other women, why should I not react the same?" For the first time since they had begun to address his unusual habits he sounded angry rather than guilty.

"That's completely different!" She stated hotly.

"How?" He demanded, gesticulating wildly with his arms. "How was my reaction today any different to yours in Barcelona?"

"Because…" She stuttered a bit, trying to find some justification but unable to do so. The colour drained from her face as she realised that there was some grain of truth in what he was saying. Yes, he had been jealous today but she had been the same every time she had caught him with some other woman. "You chose those women." She said eventually, feeling some triumph that she had managed to find something. "I didn't have a choice about the mark today."

"You said you enjoyed it." He accused.

"No I didn't. I only let you think I did to provoke some sort of reaction." She glared at him, surprised to find her eyes misting a little. "I don't think you realise how much it hurt, you going to all those women when I was here and ready to listen to your problems. Was it really so bad that for one moment I wanted you to feel the same way I did?" The confession seemed to drain the anger from him, and he looked away guiltily.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He said quietly. "You should have told me. I thought you were only concerned about the drinking."

"God, you're so obtuse." She complained, shaking her head in annoyance. "Of course I cared, how could you think any differently after Rome? I didn't exactly make my feeling subtle then or after."

"It will pass." He insisted. "I am not good for you, you will realise that soon."

"For fuck's sake Illya." She dropped her head into her hands and audibly groaned. "You don't seem to get it. It's not going to pass just because you think it should, good god even with all the stupid shit you do I was still not prepared to give up on the idea that eventually you and I could be together. And I'm still not." The latter part she confessed more quietly, suddenly fearing that perhaps he would reject her. A silence stretched on for some time now that she had made her own feelings clear, she didn't dare look up in case he looked back at her with pity. She had laid all her feelings on the line, and now she would find out whether or not he felt similarly.

"If you're sure." He said slowly, the tension in the air suddenly dissipating by that tentative comment.

"I am." She said, proudly raising her eyes to look back at him. His shoulders were relaxed and he looked back at her unblinkingly, his face utterly unreadable but somehow soft.

"Then maybe we could make a go of things." He suggested hesitatingly. "I care about you a lot Gaby, more than I perhaps should. But if I'm being honest I think you will regret this."

It suddenly became painstakingly clear exactly why he had rebuffed her back in Istanbul, and why he had never made a move elsewhere or approached her when he needed support and even now why he remained strangely reluctant. She knew her only feelings for him ran deeply, far more than a passing infatuation or even just some lustful desire. But to him, who had probably not had a relationship longer than a single night he likely could not see that, and in that regard she had not really helped. The sensible thing to do would have been to tell him the full extent of how she felt, but like him she had feared that it would all end in inevitable rejection and heartbreak. Now it seemed as though the bravest thing they could both do would be to take this great leap into the unknown and hope for the best.

"Well if we don't try we won't find out if we regret it." Gaby told him firmly, leaning in close. "And who's to say we will regret it? Perhaps your idea that we should stay apart will be a greater regret than if we start something and it doesn't pan out. Surely it is better to know that not?"

"Maybe." It wasn't the unambiguous agreement she wanted but it was enough for her to eliminate the distance between them and press her lips to his for the first time. He kissed her back gently, one hand reaching over to cup the back of her neck. It was a short kiss, but they remained close for some time after that, giving themselves time to process the decision they had just made.

"Let's go home." She said, and they returned to the hotel leaving the half-full bottle behind them, no longer needing its empty comfort or its liquid courage.

They didn't sleep together that night. Not because neither of them wanted to but because it did not feel like the right time, and while Gaby understood it would be different she still didn't want to be yet another woman Illya had bedded while drunk and she was sure he similarly did not want her associated with those kind of memories. They did kiss once again outside of her room, but she did not invite him in and he did not make any gesture or suggestion that he wanted to join her for the night. They parted amicably, and Gaby watched him leave until he disappeared from view before she shut her own door and leaned back against it with a happy smile. Sober, she thought to herself very seriously, when they eventually did consummate their relationship (which she had no doubt would happen sooner rather than later) she wanted them both to be totally and one hundred percent sober. A week later she got her wish, she woke up clear headed that morning and happier than she had been in a very long time.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Goddamn this got long. Some more of my headcanon that Illya only drinks when really upset and tends to be quite self-destructive when he does. I love Gaby in this, she's trying to be supportive but goddamn does Illya make it difficult for her. Rather concerned that all my drabbles have involved drinking or the aftermath of drinking so far.**


End file.
